


Don't Compare Him to Me, Ch. 2 - The Chair

by kenezbian



Series: Don't Compare Him to Me [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth Productions RPF
Genre: Angst, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenezbian/pseuds/kenezbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael helps Miles in a moment of frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Compare Him to Me, Ch. 2 - The Chair

Michael stopped the bathroom door with his foot so it wouldn’t slam shut (Burnie hated that), and he walked down to the Achievement Hunter office in just his towel. The office was empty save for Miles, who was sitting at Geoff’s desk doing something on his computer.

“The fuck you doing in here?” he asked, reaching under his desk for his backpack.  
Miles turned to look at him, then back to the computer. “Geoff asked me to double-check some footage for him before I left today. I’m almost done.”

“Yeah, well, don’t turn around, I’m getting dressed.” Michael’s towel suddenly appeared in the corner of his eye, flung haphazardly onto Jack’s desk.

Miles busied himself with something on the computer until he saw Michael’s arm reach for the towel again, then powered down the computer and swiveled around to face him.

Michael was toweling off his hair and Miles could see where his shirt had stuck to him a little where he was still damp. He cleared his throat and looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. “Chris still showering?”

“Yeah, fucking Gatorade was all sticky. The blood was better to wash out than that shit.” He draped the damp towel over his chair and slung his backpack over his shoulders. “You hanging around tonight?”

“Nah, I gotta get home, my dishes are about to gain sentience.” Miles stood up and stretched. “I think Burns wants me around later tomorrow night though, said he wants me to work on some machinima shit. Wanna help?”

Michael shrugged. “I gotta see what my plans are, but maybe I will.” He patted Miles on the shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

The shorter man walked out of the office and Miles raised an eyebrow, confused.

———

Miles sat at his desk in the quiet building, five controllers in front of him and one in his lap, working out a camera angle and getting frustrated.

“Need help?”

The brunet jumped and looked over his shoulder. “Christ, Michael, you didn’t have to scare me.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you, asshat, you just weren’t listening.” He set down his backpack and sat down in the chair next to Miles. “So what’re we working on?”

“It’s just a talking sequence but I can’t seem to get the camera angles right. Driving me nuts. I want to vomit.”

Michael scooted closer until their knees were touching. “Which one of these controllers is… that guy?” he said, pointing to a man on the screen.

Miles grabbed the controller to the far right and handed it to him. “Here, although I don’t know what you’re gonna— OH. That was easy.”

The redhead smirked and leaned back in his chair, tossing the controller on the table. “I think you need to relax. You’ve been working a lot lately, you’re stressing out over something that you’re good at. It’s bullshit.”

He stood up and walked around behind the taller man and started rubbing his shoulders. Miles tensed at first but slowly melted into his touch, allowing his shoulders to slump a little and his head to roll back slightly.

A vicious smile crossed Michael’s face and his hands stopped moving. One slid forward across Miles’ exposed neck, and he leaned down for an upside-down kiss.

Miles kissed back without thinking, and when Michael pulled away, he stared into his brown eyes. “What was that for?”

“You looked like you needed it.”

Miles smirked. “I did. Could use a little more, too, if you’re up for it.”

“Miles Luna, are you propositioning me?”

The younger man shrugged. “If I was?”

“I don’t know if I could say no. You’re awfully cute.” Michael smiled.

Miles sat up and turned around in his chair, pulling Michael in to straddle his lap. “Consider yourself propositioned then.”

“I accept.”

Miles grabbed Michael’s collar and pulled him in for a rough kiss, his scruff burning the other’s chin. He slid his tongue into the redhead’s mouth and moaned when he reciprocated. He felt Michael’s hands slide down the zipper on his hoodie and push it down his shoulders as far as he could.

The taller man shrugged out of the hoodie and tossed it to the floor, followed quickly by his shirt and then Michael’s. He started fumbling with the smaller man’s fly, and Michael grabbed his wrists.

“Are you sure?”

“We don’t have to fuck, we can just… you know… frot.” Miles smiled and continued opening Michael’s fly, then pulled him up a little so he could push the jeans down his thighs a little. He undid his own fly and somehow managed to scoot his own pants down enough to pull his cock out.

Michael settled back down on Miles’ thighs and reached for the younger man’s erection but Miles stopped him. “No, let me do it,” he mumbled, leaning in for a kiss.

The older man closed his eyes and leaned in as well, moaning softly into his mouth as he felt Miles’ long fingers wrap around his shaft. The slender hand pumped him a couple times before loosening its grip and Michael felt something unfamiliar.

He broke the kiss again and stared down at their laps, mouth dropping open when he realized what Miles had done: enclosed his fist around both erections. He moaned long and low and wrapped his hand around the side where Miles’ fingers didn’t quite meet.

Both men gasped when Miles gave an experimental stroke. Michael leaned in and captured Miles’ mouth once again, cupping his face with his free hand and thrusting furiously into their combined fists.

Minutes felt like hours as the boys rutted their hips together and sucked on each other’s lips, moaning loudly in the empty building.

“Miles, I— I’m gonna—” Michael stammered out.

“I know, I can tell,” Miles said. “Just go, I’m right with you.”

Michael rested his forehead on Miles shoulder and hollered, his shot ricocheting off his hand and hitting Miles’ belly. Miles turned his head and moaned gibberish into Michael’s curls, his orgasm leaking into his hand.

Miles kissed Michael on the ear and tried to get him to turn his head to really kiss him, but Michael suddenly hopped off his lap and yanked his pants up. He grabbed a box of Kleenex off the desk, grabbed two, and tossed it to Miles.

“Thanks,” he said with a wink as he wiped himself off. He tossed the used tissues on the desk, pulled his shirt on, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and skipped down the stairs and out the front door before Miles had even stood up from the chair.

Miles felt his eyes sting as he cleaned up and got dressed. He heaved a sigh, scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and resumed machinimating like Michael had never been there.


End file.
